Pink Floyd Imagines

𝟚𝟘. 𝕊𝕪𝕕 𝔹𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥

A/N:

Hi,

I wanted to write something, cause you know, new week, it would be appropriate to get down to work. So here we are. Why so depressing? Monday. Thank you all for reading, votes and comments, they're really give me a lot of happiness.

Love

June

Warning: Drugs

Every minute seemed to get longer and longer for you. The more you wanted your flat door to open, the longer each second seemed. It was already getting to one o'clock in the morning and you were beginning to wonder if your fiancé would even decide to turn up. You should have gone to bed a long time ago, you had work tomorrow, but the thoughts kept you up at night.

Every time you dared to close your eyelids in weariness you saw his face. So pale, empty, without any expression; a man almost stripped of all human feelings and reflexes. Any stranger, but certainly not the man you met in the early 1960s.

This thought filled you with the worst premonitions, so you sat up straight, trying to read 'Pride and Prejudice', which your friend Sam had lent you. However, you couldn't concentrate on the fate of the main characters at all, because all you could do was think about Syd and aimlessly turn the pages.

Syd had changed, and not in any good way. In the beginning when you were together he was always chatty with you, joking with you, painting a lot, showing you his new poems, going to art galleries together, out to eat, and the man himself was just a people magnet. His somewhat mysterious artistic personality still attracted people, but the rest of the things had changed. Your fiancé, once a family man, preferring your company to that of other people at the club, appeared in the flat as if occasionally. Your cosy home was slowly turning into a meeting club for Syd and other random people he wanted to take drugs with. You didn't take drugs, you knew that even a small amount could prove very harmful at the wrong moment. You tried to explain it to Syd too, but he saw it from a completely different angle and there was nothing you could do about it. If you didn't love him as much as you did, you would have left him. You knew it would have been better for you, everyone told you so, you were even advised to do so by Roger, who was Syd's friend after all, but you just couldn't.

Every time you were about to end things with him and all this madness, he would come along and do something that you would change your mind. Maybe you weren't doing drugs, but all the circuses that were going on in your life were definitely just as likely to drive you crazy.

It wasn't until yesterday that you decided you needed to end this relationship. Syd, of course, came home with his pot-smoking and acid-taking friends late at night, and their screams kept you up. You tried to be patient, but when your head was already bursting you suggested that it was time to go to bed. However, when everyone, including your fiancé laughed at you, you kicked them out of the house without qualms. You hoped that Syd understood and would just go to bed, however, as it turned out, he had other plans as he started shouting at you. Later, in a fit of rage, when you told him to end it all, he threw a lamp at you, which fortunately flew past and smashed against the wall. Sure he might have been stoned, but nothing entitled him to treat you like that. That was the end of your endurance; you went back to your room crying and he left the house.

That's when you decided you couldn't take it anymore, no matter how much you loved your fiancé. You wanted to tell him right away when he came home, but he didn't deign to show up. You already had all your suitcases packed, Sam even let you stay at her place for a while. Now all you had to do was wait for the most difficult conversation of your life.

When it was half past two, you decided that it was pointless to wait any longer, so you simply decided to leave a note.

At that moment, however, you heard the door lock turning. It opened slowly and there he stood. His dark hair was longer than before, falling in greasy waves over his lean shoulders. His clothes were as colourful as ever, but everything seemed dimmed by his dark coat. The most frightening thing about him, however, was his face; his blackened eyes bore emptiness, his skin was too pale and earthy, his mouth dry only slightly parted. There was also a few days of stubble on his face. He stood gently hunched over, a little as if withdrawn.

You felt sorry for him, however, there was nothing you could do. You couldn't stop him it was just his choice. If he himself did not feel the need to change, you couldn't help him.

"Roger..." you whispered, unable to call him 'Syd'. He was such an unlikeable image to your idea of a man called 'Syd'.

He seemed to ignore you. He was looking straight at the wall, fiddling with the buttons of his coat.

"Roger, it's over." you repeated, trying to sound firm, which, however, was hampered by the sight of your soon-to-be ex-fiancé.

"Butterflies. Butterflies are so pretty. I remember this butterfly, it was so colourful. I always liked butterflies." he muttered quietly, and a blissful smile appeared on his face. What he said was so casual that it was frightening.

"Roger, do you know what I'm saying? It's over, we won't be together anymore." you explained to him slowly and clearly, but he wasn't interested.

"Yes, that's right, the flowers are so colourful too. I can hear it so well. I like the smell of red so much." he mumbled, squinting his eyes playfully. His smile seemed a little even sinister to you now.

"Roger Keith Barrett..." you started, but he raised his hand as if trying to stop you.

"But the butterflies will fly away anyway. Sooner or later they'll blow away into dust..." he didn't finish as he wobbled and fainted, falling to the floor with a clatter. You checked his pulse; he was alive, it must have just been exhaustion. With tears in your eyes you dragged him into the living room and laid him on the sofa. You dropped his shoes on the floor and covered him with a blanket. He looked so peaceful as if he had died, even if he was only sleeping. However, you couldn't help thinking that part of him had just died.

You let the tears flow. You couldn't stand the sight anymore; you couldn't give in to your feelings again. You turned on your heel and headed for the kitchen. You took a notepad and a pen, letting your trembling hand write on the paper some meaningful words that were going to change everything.

'I can't do this anymore. It's over with us. Don't look for me, I want to forget about it, (Y/N).'

What you wrote was just a substitute for what you felt, but you couldn't say more. You left a note and walked out closing the chapter of your life with Syd.